


Come Rest Your Bones Next To Me

by lamella



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Blind Character, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Recovery, Soft things. all the soft things, canon wlw babey!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 07:56:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21115367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamella/pseuds/lamella
Summary: It takes a minute to adjust, sometimes, even to good things.Maybe especially to good things.AKA Melanie deserves nice things and I give them to her





	Come Rest Your Bones Next To Me

The adjustment from working in the archives to what she can only think of as normal life is hard. 

That’s to be expected, but it’s not actually the sudden lack of vision that does it. It’s traumatic and horrible and difficult, of course it is, but Melanie is used to running around buildings in the pitch-black and she’d prepared herself for her loss. 

It’s the things she’s gained that throw her off. She wakes up with pressure over her waist and startles, her back stiffening and her legs and arms rigid with fear, only to relax into the warmth behind her seconds afterwards. Or once, Georgie brings home some beef for dinner and the smell sends her into a panic attack and she trips over the arm of the couch scrambling for a safe place.

Every time, every single time something bad happens, Georgie’s right there with her. She’s not her only support, doesn’t let her become dependent, but she’s always there to help and shelter and protect. It’s easier to get through the bad stuff curled up in Georgie’s arms.

Melanie knows Georgie can’t feel fear any more, but she gets the impression that she’d still be facing the looming horrors that want them both with her level head and iron spine if she did. For her, Georgie would do so many things.

It’s not only the big things, either. Georgie takes her into her home and her bed and faces down Jon and prepares to face down far worse, and then she goes and adds textured labels to the bottles in the shower and rearranges her kitchen drawers so Melanie can’t get jabbed looking for a fork and does a dozen other little things to make living without eyes easier.

So it’s hard, but not as hard as it should be.

It feels unreal, though.

Not even six months ago, if you told you she’d be lying in a spot of sunshine on the floor of her and her girlfriend’s apartment with a cat curled up on her chest, safe and soft and content, Melanie would have laughed in your face and maybe spit in it for good measure.

But she is. The Admiral is a warm, soft weight on her, and although she can’t see the sunshine, she can still imagine the honey-warm light catching the dust motes and illuminating the room, catching on the comfortable, mushy couch and yellow wood floor. The grain is smooth under her fingertips, cool in shadow and warm in sun, and the Admiral is as soft as ever, purring even louder when she scratches his furry little chin.

The Melanie from earlier this year never could have had this. Never could have let go of the blood and anger and fight long enough for it. 

She’s glad Jon carved that bullet out of her. They’re friends, now, or trying to be. But she can’t go back to that. She won’t, she’s out and she’s staying out.

And Jon, the pushiest man she’s ever met, doesn’t. He comes to them about something once, and apologizes, and then he’s just a friend. He talks about work sometimes, but then there’s a silence and he coughs awkwardly and moves on. Melanie suspects Georgie’s death glare has only improved since she last saw it. 

He talks timidly, at first, and even after he readjusts to their new selves, he occasionally seems taken aback, awed. Like he’s noticed the softness she’s chosen to surround herself with, the gentle self she’s cultivated and he wants it. She hopes he gets it, somehow, the chance to turn yourself soft and gentle and not worry about getting hurt for it.

It’s really, really nice.

All the domesticity and the quiet happiness fills the place inside her that she’d filled with rage and violence.

They cook together, Melanie directing Georgie in how to make her favourite dishes and playing taste-tester and general nuisance, wrapping her arms around Georgie’s waist and sweeping her hair aside to pepper her neck and shoulders with a hundred small kisses while Georgie squirms and laughs and gently scolds her. Even when the stir-fry burns it tastes far better than anything Melanie could make for herself during those horrible years, though, so she doesn’t care enough about distracting Georgie to stop.

It’ll take a lot more than a mouthful of smoke and overcooked vegetables to deter her. She gets to have nice things now, she’s going to take full advantage of them.

So she presses herself close to Georgie while they lie in bed and holds the back of her neck and leaves kisses all over her cheeks. She tucks her own face under Georgie’s chin and leaves soft kisses down her throat, lets the pulse and heat under her lips remind her how alive Georgie is, relishes in the sensations of soft skin against her lips and hair tickling her cheeks and the way Georgie’s breath hitches. Sometimes she shudders and her hands tighten around Melanie’s waist, and the warm tangle of emotions in her chest grows and crawls up her chest until she’s choking on it, until she can’t help but gasp out, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Georgie takes her on walks, long rambling strolls around London when the weather is pleasant. She describes things.

The lettering on the chalkboard outside a coffee shop, advertising a 2-for-1 deal for the day. Two little teacups with smiley faces below the words hold cartoon hands, pink and green smoke curling up and out of them and surrounding the neat script.

A pigeon, hopping through the gutter and managing to grab a quarter of a discarded bagel. It tumbles up through the air, and has three white feathers in its left wing. Georgie calls it the chubbiest little bird-orb she’s ever seen, voice going silly and fond to say it.

The way the leaves turn. A kid’s messy smile as she eats a chocolate croissant. Every cute dog they pass.

It’s nice to hear everything through Georgie’s perspective. It makes her feel like she’s not missing anything. 

She does it with movies, too, picks out little details the audio description misses, snuggles Melanie closer and curls around her to kiss her cheek. Laying on the couch, small and vulnerable and leaned up against Georgie, the Admiral in her lap and a warm mug in her hands, Melanie wonders that she ever thought she’d lost her future. This is her future, idyllic and flawed and wonderful and everything she could have ever asked for. She tells Georgie she loves her. 

“I know,” she responds, voice warm and fond. “I love you too.”

Years after Melanie’s slipped into their life with two stabs and not a small amount of stumbling blocks, Georgie describes their rings beautifully. They’re simple, both of them just plain bands. Melanie’s has a swirling silver pattern above the gold base, and Georgie’s a gold one over the silver base. When they lace their fingers together, the bands click, and slowly both gain hundreds of little scratches from daily wear and tear. It’s still satisfying to run her thumb over the smooth surface.

The new texture is just another adjustment, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> This is revenge on Hannah for making me yearn so hard I fell out of my chair.


End file.
